


For the First and for the Last Time

by a_different_equation, Kelian



Series: you give love a bad name [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Dolore & Amore, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Canon, Reminiscing, Revelations, Second Chances, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, a soft epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelian/pseuds/Kelian
Summary: Watson comes to Sussex at last. Which means that Sherlock Holmes will (hopefully) get his first kiss. A coda for an unusual love.





	For the First and for the Last Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelian/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Romani Holiday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916364) by [Kelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelian/pseuds/Kelian). 



> Hi!
> 
> This one is a OS set in the universe created by kelian which I translated the last couple of months. If you haven't read it (the original in Italian series under the name, "You're mine, doctor" or the English translation under the title, "you give love a bad name"), stop here and indulge in ca. 20k of love (= "amore") and pain (= "delore") here on Ao3. Or, as everyone calls it: "porn with poetry".  
> Enjoy reading,  
> and mille grazie, kelian!,  
> Ade

 

**Sussex, ca. 1914**

 

It ended and begun with a case.

 

Unexpectedly, Holmes had wired me to meet him. I rushed to Sussex Downs immediately; for a second, it had been like 1891 instead of 1914; "The Game is Afoot" and Dr. John Watson was - once again - the ever-faithful Boswell of Mr Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. While I had driven to the countryside, I had pondered about writing something in _The Strand_ afterwards. Just like old times; The Golden Days instead of The Golden Years.

It was true what I let slipped out when we chatted for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while our prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him.

"I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes—you have changed very little—save for that horrible goatee."

In my youth, I would never admit such things. Neither how much it pleased me to be of service, nor to comment on his attire. Or, I should clarify: not without altering it for the public.

What went behind closed doors - for years, I might add - that is an all together different story. A story that I might pen down to paper, put it into a strong wooden box, and hope those kinder days will discover it in the future. Come to think about it: I am confident that even in the future my private life would be not looked upon kindly. One day, society might not be object against love between two men but what we did - no, what I did to Holmes for years...

"These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. I shook out of my reverie. He might be retired but he is still an observant man. There is no one who knows me as well as Holmes. No, not even my Mary who was buried for so many years and who had always ignored what I did behind her back. What was Holmes saying?

"Tomorrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall no doubt reappear at Coleridge’s tomorrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled —before this American job came my way."

For a second, I feared that it was a stab towards Alice. The second wife in my life, or fiancée, as I did not do the same mistake twice. I left for America with her, but came home to England for Holmes. Something I should have done decades prior. I have been a fool, a terrible fool. Now, I was an old fool as well. I hoped that I was not too late - however, I hoped that Holmes' invitation to accompany him to the case was a good sign.

As we turned to the car, Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.

"There's an east wind coming, Watson."

"I think not, Holmes. It is very warm."

"Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There is an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. Nevertheless, it is God's own wind, and a cleaner; better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it is time that we were on our way. I have a cheque for £500 which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can."

Then, as if it had been yesterday and not nearly, two decades since we last had seen each other, Holmes winked and added, “Care to come along?”

 

* * *

 

 

The first two or three miles we were silent. Cautious, not only concerning the speed limit, we sat in our seats. Not once, another vehicle has crossed our path. What a difference to the buzzling metropolis of London, the meltingpot of our nation, getting more crowded every passing day! Not only because of this I wished to retire to the countryside. After coming home from the war in Afghanistan all those decades ago, I had been drawn to the capital; now, at dawn of a new war, all I wanted was to find shelter.

“Holmes”, I said, more confident and taking courage for once, “we are in a pretty ghastly time, I know. However, we are in for it together, aren’t we?”

“Yes”, Holmes replied, “we will, won’t we. Therefore, that something rather wonderful will come out of it all. “

“I promise you, it will”, Watson said, “You will see.” And oh, how I wished to promise him more but it could not be done.

“As long as we together.”

“That’s right,” Watson said, “Being together is everything.”

And with one of those tricks, that memory sometimes plays on us; younger versions of us rose up clearly in my mind. They wore a singular compassionate smile.

 

Together we drove back to our now shared house in Sussex.

 

* * *

 

“What a lovely thing a rose is!"

Holmes walked past the couch to the open window of our cottage and held up the drooping stalk of a rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. However, I mused, it made sense that Holmes would be interested in flowers as they are essential for bees. Just seconds ago he had presented me the magnum opus of his golden years. He had picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, _Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen._ My Holmes remains an odd duck; and I love him dearly for it.

"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as religion," said Holmes, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”

In our younger days, I could not imagine the other man to use such almost sentimental sentences. Oh, I was no fool; I had learned that behind the mask of a man resembling an automat when presented with a puzzle to solve did exist a human heart. A heart that belonged to me, and if his memory not failed him, for decades now. Watson did not know the exact date but...

“From the beginning, old boy. I have loved you since I first saw your face.”

 

For a minute, there was nothing. Then I hurried to declare myself; hoping it was not too late.

"I owe you an apology."

"No, you do not, John, or at least, I do not need one. And if the next thing you want to offer me is an explanation, stop it this instant. I am of higher intellect, I knew it all along and I played along, so please, old friend, do not insult my intelligence. I went along, and I went along willingly. And if you wish to know – as we are both old men, and the world is in shambles and will be in far greater turmoil soon – I went without hesitation. You, dear John, were the exception. I ponder about cases, about experiments, about the way of men, but never about you. I choose you without giving you, us, it a second thought. And I won't start now, and if it's in my power, I'll make you stop doing it now as well."

"But Holmes..."

"No, hush now. I know what kind of a man you are; I always knew who you really are and what we might become if time would be kind on us. The reason why I came back? Always, every time? Because of this. And I was right – even, for once, I was not so sure but I hoped – it took time but we are here. And that is all that matters, John."

 

* * *

 

My beloved John still looked unsure; why could he not let it go? All the years, back in the old century, Watson had never cared. One minute into our private rooms and the world – including his wife – had been forgotten. I – who remembered our first time – knew that not even a kiss was offered and all his senses were lost when he got me under him. In all the years, we never made love. Now, we are too old – his wounds not only aching in winter and I got my scars inside and outside too – to alter it.

For some things, it was simply too late.

For others however...

I rarely got a kiss in all the years, not when we had been young and I had been younger still as I am his junior. In my bloom, I had been virginal. When Watson had started to use my body and I had shared his bed with him willingly, there were the thorns; the marks of what I hoped but never could confirmed of his love. Maybe it had been possession, maybe it had been pleasure, maybe it had been lust, and maybe it had been passion? Maybe it had been all of it and yet, I had nothing out of it except of pain – and I even this I had taken with pleasure.

Not once, I had a kiss. A real one, one for me, for my love. I had received kisses as part of the foreplay, I had some as an apology, and I had been kissed because Watson had wanted it.

It would be too late for one – only one – kiss in 221b Baker Street as I moved out at the turn of the century. Around the time, Watson had found another wife. I went here to Sussex, he went to America. Surely, I could enquire by my brother what happened to our rooms in London and maybe persuade him to give us the keys for a weekend and found a solution for the new tenants (whoever they might be) but it should not be done. It was in my powers, and maybe Watson would be in for it now, but it would be a tarnished memory. It would not been real – just like all the kisses he had bestowed on me when we had been both in London.

I am old now, and he is older still. We were fools – and maybe we were fools in love, but maybe we only tricked each other into bed – but we are old now and not foolish enough to trick each other once more. Let there be love for the remainder of the days.

 

Therefore, I took my beloved face between my hands and kissed him, hard, on his mouth.

„Do not ask me again to forgive you, “I said, „Because I have forgiven you in the instant. However, you have no right to let this go by, John. I am your man and you know it. “

 

* * *

 

 

I hesitated for a second but then I went down on my knees to be on his side, forever. We crouched there, on the rug in front of the fireplace in Sussex Down. Outside the old, stone-build cottage, the wind was howling. It was a clear, cold night, and if we wished, we could have gone stargazing.

However, we preferred to build our own universe.

A universe in which my heart was beating alongside my loved one.

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The OS remixes part of ACD's "The Naval Treaty" and "His Last Bow". 
> 
> Thanks to all the readers of the three parts, and mostly, to kelian who created this universe. 
> 
> Kudos are love. Comments are very welcome. Have a lovely weekend whereever you are :)


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